


Fundamentally Yours - House Of Riot for Writers Month 2020

by Tizian23



Series: Fundamentally Yours [1]
Category: Jeff Beck - Fandom, Jimmy Page - Fandom, Led Zeppelin, Robert Plant - Fandom, Terry Reid - Fandom, The Rolling Stones
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Band Fic, Bars and Pubs, Best Friends, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Cats, Drinking & Talking, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Late Night Conversations, Light BDSM, Loss, Loss of Control, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pangbourne, Peacocks, Post-Zeppelin, Pre-Band, Pre-Relationship, References to Drugs, Rock Stars, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Sleeping Together, True Love, Writing and Making Music Together, quarantined, tourfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 14,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tizian23/pseuds/Tizian23
Summary: Day 1 Prompt - Tattooist / Flower shop AUgenerally very harmlessfluffy maybe?
Relationships: David Bowie/Mick Jagger, Jeff Beck/Jimmy Page, Jimmy Page/Charlotte, Jimmy Page/Robert Plant, Mick Jagger/Brian Jones, Mick Jagger/Keith Richards, Robert Plant/ Maureen Plant, Robert Plant/Terry Reid (Musician), Terry Reid/ Jimmy Page
Series: Fundamentally Yours [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014192
Comments: 46
Kudos: 43
Collections: House of Riot for Writers Month 2020, Writer's Month 2020





	1. Mine!

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so here are my Writers Month 2020 contributions. I was late initially and then seemed to write all of them at once and then none for a while so I am posting them in groups of -lets say- 5 now for the end of the month.  
> Some of them are longer; some are short.  
> They cover all sorts of persons point of views( Fuck yes I write BONZO for the first time and love it.)  
> They cover all times, paths and spaces the boys crossed over the years.  
> There are some that tell a continuous story (the Quarantine one& the Heartbreaker side storyline from John Henrys point of views so far).  
> I tried to stay true to the drabble idea and not explain too much or waste much time introducing or building story.

“Do you really think this is necessary, Jim?” 

He's face down on the bench now. An old Yardbirds t-shirt pushed up to his shoulders. He looks a little scared but more confused than anything else. I smile down on him. Touching his shoulder, I feel his jittery heat through the flimsy fabric. The little glyph I drew on his skin perfectly lining up with the valley of his spine between his shoulder blades. 

“Yes of course -we all will get one.” That might be a lie- we both know it. The needle whirrs, he flinches, his eyes bright and nervous. 

“Even Jonesy?” I have to grin at the image of John sitting down in that steel chair over there, the trademark mix of thrilled condescension and mirth barely suppressed on his amused face.  
.  
“ But certainly...it’s an old band tradition....all members do it. The Yardbirds did it as soon as I joined them.” That’s not so necessarily a lie though. Some of them did. Had nothing to do with band tradition though. 

“Jeff Beck has your name tattooed on his arse?” he asks incredulously and suddenly looks tickled pink. " Show me yours then. For every band one? Should be a bit of a list by now, eh?"

Ah bollocks… now what? At this point the needle splutters ink over his golden skin and he forgets what he was objecting about. I link our fingers. His are sweaty and cold with fright; dirty nails, the callouses from working only now slowly disappearing. His pupils fattening with elation and adrenaline almost drowning out the storm-blue.  
Black ink, my hand in his and the little pain… they mix to this delicious rush through his body, shutting down his brain for precious moments. Now there is a mark on him. MY mark.


	2. You Give Me Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has Robert done last night? And why is he sick now? Jimmy doesn't know but G is mad enough to actually yell at Robert for the first time ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 Prompt - Quarantine
> 
> rating - a bit more grown up, mentioning of shenanigans lewdness and nudeness

I knew it was a stupid idea to let you run off to this awful bar downtown last night.. when you woke up this afternoon I saw that you were not just hungover but sick like a dog and I worried.  
I worried because you get so reckless when you think no one knows you- no one can put a name to the golden vision in their midst; walking up to their bar to order their most adventurous beverage, laced with GodsKnow what-snake poison, psychedelic cactus, the blood of some mysterious animal no one's ever heard of. That is before you snog and shag your way through the seediest parts of the red light district until someone suddenly moans your real name and you disappear into your limousine like cinderella in tennis shoes. It was bound to happen. And since you came home to me, crawled into my bed with dirty, sticky fingers and hot, sweet lips-now I have to take care that we both don't die with some extraoridinary STD, an exotic fever or poisoning in this room that Cole guards from the outside. G yelled at us for a good 20 minutes from the doorstep before he threw water bottles and Alka Seltzer at us and locked the door. Every gold lock horrent you sat in the middle of our bed looking alarmed and distinctly green around your nose… my stomach heaved in fear and sympathy when you ran for the loo slamming the door behind you. In the room next door I can hear Bonzo laugh now for about 3 minutes straight and Jonesy trying to shush him and his own snorts of laughter.  
We don't have a show for 3 days so we won't leave this room; "Quarantining for 48 hours at the very least," G had roared at us.  
And No room-service.  
No booze.  
No stardust.  
No groupies.  
No visitors.  
Maybe a doctor if you beg him very nicely. Great. He really wants to teach you…well, us a lesson this time. He secretly worries too when you do this I guess. I pick up one of the water bottles - it's ice cold at least- from where it had rolled under the bed and knock on the bathroom door once I heard the flush and a sigh. 

" Hm… yes come in…!" You are sitting in the empty bath tub sideways, your naked tanned feet dangling over the edge, in your mouth a clean red toothbrush. " Did he throw painkillers in as well or do I have to suffer to learn my lesson?" You inquire with a tiny, hopeful smile.  
I give you the water bottle and go to find the little package on the bed. Sitting down in front of the bathtub I unwrap the pill for you and drop it into the meanwhile half empty water bottle you hold out for me, the toothbrush in your other hand. Over the water fuzzing up our eyes meet. Wordlessly I understand. You look tired, a fever blush high on your cheeks, your golden curls matted with dirt stuck to your sweaty skin. 

" Hard night, yeah?" You nod, slowly to not make your head hurt more before the pill kicks in. But you smile. I stroke your hair out of your face and feel your forehead.  
It's warm but not more hot than it should be. " Ok, now that we will be stuck here anyway for the time being will you tell me what it was you did this time? How lousy will we both feel in a few hours? Will we need vitamin B12 or antibiotic shots?" 

Your head dips sideways, leaning into the caress before turning and kissing the palm of my hand while you think about the question. Your breath against my skin. I am a little ashamed about the soft subsequent twist of arousal behind my belly button when I look at your sorry state but I feel your smile in the kiss. 

You pick up the toothbrush and say airily " If you let me take a shower and get me a tour breakfast I'll tell you everything I remember." I nod courtly, my head full of dirty ideas and empathy for your suffering.  
As I get up I pet your hair again before I reach over your head and switch on a lukewarm shower above you. Your contended sigh follows me outside the bathroom over to the telefon. Tour breakfast. Now for you that would mean Mexican beer and bananas. I listen to the phone ring in the next room and interrupt Jonesy recounting the time we all got the crabs from one of your forays into the unknown. Bonzo picks up.

" Jimmy? Listen, he'll have to be brave - There's only one Corona left, they are rare here they said…but the bananas I have here look mighty fine." 

He knows your hangovers well enough by now. " I'll let Jones do the talking to Cole. Something else you guys need?"

" You're a treasure. Thank you so much. I can't think of anything else unless you find chocolate milk somewhere." He hangs up without any further comment. 

There is some shuffling and moving about in the room, a door opening, then Jonesys sweetest voice, Cole japping "No! Fuck off Jones!" a few times before Jonesys voice drops to a secretive whisper and next thing the door is opening and an ice filled champagne bucket with chocolate ice cream, beer and bananas is pushed over the doorstep by John Pauls perfectly pedicured foot in expensive leather sandals. 

I am digging through my guitar case to find an unburned spoon between the various trinkets in there- plectrums, my notebook, broken A-strings, empty coke wraps, enough jewellery and lace knickers for a whole harem. I am halfway through the ice cream when you flop down next to me on the bed… a soft sandalwood scent wafting after you. Your eyes are closed; you are panting. I know you feel dizzy after the hot shower. You're wearing my blue silk pants and your hair is wet, almost waist long now, copper-coloured spun silk soaking the pillows; your skin slippery with luxurious shower oil, cooling water drops rolling down your flanks. I pick one up from your right nipple and suck it off my rough finger tip. You arch your back into the tiny touch, a sigh parting your lips. 

tbc


	3. Dye The Ocean Black, If You Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert watches the raw cut for TSRTS and notices something he never saw before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 prompt - Magic  
> Rating - rather tame
> 
> BTW-here you can see Jimmy do his wonderful little cue-ballet that inspired me for this one. If you know it watch it anyway cos it never gets old one Single day.  
> [The Ocean Live at MSG 1973 ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mqgyD_yTWCU)
> 
> Oh and if you know better ballets from him please share the fun.

They say you do magic on stage.

They say you are casting spells over the audience.

They say you turn the kids to the dark side…dye the ocean black if you will.

They say you are a wizard -which of course secretly pleases you to no end.

They say you are worshipping Satan -or Crowley at the very least- and to most of them its the same.

Most of that I understood and knew better. But the spell casting rumor flabbergasted me for years. I could hardly ask anyone about it but I wondered if you actually know what they mean…or if Ol'Aleister possibly came up with some ritual for enchanting the masses… but then I saw the raw cut of the movie and I understood. I never saw it this clear before because on stage I am too busy myself or too familiar with the way you move. And after all I don't have to see you to play with you to perfection. Feeling you close is enough to guide me.

What you really do is you give cues.. looks like a sexy little ballet.

Funny steps, jumps and stomps, weird random moves, hand waves, pointing, cutting off, counting in. They are not for me that's why I never saw them. They are for Bonzo mostly, and Jonesy who plays with Bonzo in a union that is very much like ours.

The way you move on stage has changed so much over the years. At first you looked terrified, glued to the spot on stage you put yourself in before the first note would be played. But being the perfectionistic control freak that you are you couldn't help it. You had to move. You had to make sure the timing is perfect and every riff, moan, baseline drop and drum beat is where it belongs. Then you felt the magic the four of us create. The union. Felt the 5th element walk on stage to stand behind you and making you feel safe enough to bounce, dance ..shuffle even. And when I see you jump I know you have gotten rid of the fright at least for a little while.. You jump pretty high considering your guitar weights about half as much as you.

The magic carries you. Our magic. The four of us. The smiles and secretive glances. The little signs and snickers we share that no one sees down there. And is has absolutely nothing to do with casting a spell on anyone.

It's bigger than that.


	4. Lovely Noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Afterparty comes the Hotelparty.  
> (50Cent said that but I am sure the boys might have invented it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 prompt - Long distance relationship  
> Rating : Mature  
> crops and gags are mentioned, shackles are in use but overall harmless banter

"Hey it's me."

"Oh, of course. How are you are ya feeling tonight, love?"

"Hm, worn out after the gig, naked, a bit of a headache. Gonna be confined to the bed for a while I'd say.."

"Confined, you say?"

"Well yes… I don't think I can move any time soon..don't want to either…I am still waiting for the ..main act if you will. Encores I've had enough for today."  
"The main act?"

"Yes, it might get loud I'd expect."

"Oh..Loud…?"

"Yes.. empirically so - it always does…"

"So you might need to be silenced?"

"Maybe… I've been told I make very lovely noise though."

I stretch myself as far as the handcuffs and my spreadeagled tied-up position allows me to peek from the bed into the living room where I can see you sit with a glass of champagne in one and the phone receiver in the other hand. You are still wearing your dragon suit trousers, sunglasses and an excited smile, balancing the silver riding crop on your knees.

" Jimmy," I growl into the telephone , "I swear to God, if you don't come in here and finish what you started I am going to gnaw off my wrist like a coyote in a trap and chase you down the corridor to Gs room and not even he will be able to save you. Might let him watch though."

" But my glass isn't empty yet.." I see you putting the glass on the table and pick up a silver ball gag from the couch, studying it for a moment, then meeting my eyes over the distance. You get up, the crop in one and the gag in the other hand. Showing them to me you seem to ask my opinion. I shake my head and put the receiver down. 

"Alas, maybe no gag.. I need you to count and beg after all." And I love the way your mouth twists over this dirty promise.

Well…Answered Prayers.


	5. Dragons Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Page&Plant are a thing now and Jimmy has a revelation and regrets a thing a long the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 prompt - Soulmates
> 
> Rating - fluffy with a little remorse 
> 
> I wrote it with LedByThreads in my mind. I hope you know why :)

You refused to call it husbands even though you were the one who brought up the marriage.  
Talked about love.  
ON the record, in interviews, on TV even.  
Sometimes I can't believe the twisted ways you go through to avoid giving a straight answer to a question you hate to hear from the wrong lips…or at all. You were shy in interviews at first, hating the intrusive attitude about them and felt my uncomfortable impatience, my raised hackles in your back. But that went away once you took your bath in the dragons blood…slayed our dragon for it even. Realised you've been through the worst already and your heart was still beating and then… it became a game for you.  
You grew protective about me. Sat in front of me, answering for both of us. Ever the workhorse G raised you to be you refused to call the interviews off -huffing "Promotion is Promotion" - and I worried at first how aggravating they would be. With us back together on one stage. Me so assailable, you so eager to please. Our new act so in need of attention and press.  
But also you wanted them to see. Like they did back then. You wanted to show me off. 

Our roles are switched now and you are so much a better protector than I was back then when you would have needed me to be overprotective and feisty. I still have regrets about that some days. Thankfully we had G to take care of the protection part and hide away the meaner reviews. That and Bonzo who punched Cole after he dared to send you for sandwiches after a rehearsal. I still remember seeing your hurt face when you walked to the door but hadn't caught the actual remark. But what I caught later was the scuffling in the boys privys and Bonzos bruised knuckles. Surely after that Cole never dared to treat you like that again, the road-crew stopped sniggering and calling you funny names and oddly Bonzo and Cole became fearsome chums. 

However… you called me soulmate first after you read it somewhere. 

" It feels like so much more than just love..it's kismet. It's deeper, it's more and it's given. I like that" 

I never commented on it but it's how I think about us ever since.  
It's more than carnal and more than love. It's given. And it was destined all along.


	6. Jimmy By The Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why again does he love the ocean when he can't swim?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 prompt - Ocean  
> Rating - very loving fluff

His eyes change the colour with his moods.  
And he's gotten into a lot more control over his emotions when he outgrew the starstruck terrified overwhelmed teenager I took to Denmark 1968.  
These days I sometimes only notice his temperament by the way they get darker or lighter if he's annoyed, nervous, bouncy or pissed off. Those are the emotions he hides away. His eyes - usually blue like only the Albion sky can be blue on a halcyon summer day- can take a furious aquamarine sparkle that makes even Bonzo turn tail when Robert can't find the book he was reading earlier or picks up on someone trying to take advantage of him being kind or famous or both.   
He can have explosive mood swings - usually when he's hungover - and the subsequently thrown drinks, apples and lamps can hit you about as hard as the steely ice blue lighting in his glare. His aim is thankfully not half as accurate as he would like it to be. The Golden Specks in his eyes turn blackish when he is nervous, he stopped curling his hair around his fingers but he keeps hicupping giggles and when our eyes meet I can see the dark flecks like the craters on the faraway full moon-even without a telescope. 

But when he's with me and he's happy his eyes have the colour of the ocean, that certain blue depth near the horizon, where sky and water meet. Sun beams breaking through the clouds, golden reflexes twisting in the blue. It's my colour of joy.   
No wonder I love the sea.


	7. Bonzo And The Black Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this one belongs to my WIP [Heartbreaker 💔](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23009866) .  
> It retells the first two-three chapters.  
> Only it's told by a different pair of eyes. Bonzo was there and he saw it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 prompt - Hurt/Comfort
> 
> Rating - General

He had slammed the door of the backstage so hard I could see dust falling from the ceiling above him landing on his hair. Dropping down on the couch next to Maureen he glanced over at me and downed half the pint in his hand with one huge gulp. She puts a careful hand on his knee and asks softly: 

“And? Did you talk to them? What do they think? Did they like it?” With every question he looks more dejected before he finally shakes his head. He puts the glass on the scratched table in front of himself and pushes it away from the settee with his left knee. 

“ But Baby, why not? They are here for you.” Her chocolate eyes flit over to me for an explanation so I give her a stealthy shrug even though I have an idea what might have happened. 

“ To hear what? 'No, thank you but nice try?' They chatted to each other all through the show, laughed the whole time and one of them wouldn’t even look at me before his mate brought him a whiskey. So sod them.” He snorts a miserable little noise out that makes me want to punch a wall -or better those plonkers. I saw them in the audience and thought it was a bit rude but nothing to be just so upset about. After all ….

“ Well, considering who they are it’s probably more the surrounding that confused them.” I offer. The the bloody Teachers College isn’t the most impressive venue for any sort of gig and the acoustics in there is horrific. “Room’s way too high for a halfway decent sound anyway..” 

“ Well they are supercilious twats and I don’t even want to play with any of them… no matter who they are.” He spits that out with a lot of defiance but I hear he’s hurt and so does Maureen. She wraps him a a hug and rubs his back, whispering in his ear what I bet are helpless encouragements. This was important to him and she knows it. That is why we are all here to witness his supposed victory-the day he found his fate or fame and fortune at least. I hope he knows he's good and I would not have thought anyone could deny that once they heard him. I know the feeling. He’s insulted in his honour as much as he is disappointed. But there seems to be something else he said...

" You don't know who they are?" I gawk at him in what I am afraid is barely concealed astonishment. 

" Well, No. Some music big guns or so from London. Terry was very vague about it. But I bet it's them…I mean who else in there looks like they sniff coke off a bloody silver spoon?" 

How could he not have recognised them? Grant and Page at the very least. I know Ro' said he digs the Yardbirds. No wait... he actually said he thinks their new bass player is "quite a crumpet". I remember Maureen almost pissing herself laughing over the kitchen table and singsonging:  
"Robert you fancy Lil' Mr. Muttonchops Page. AWWWW!" OH damn. 

So that's why he doesn't want to talk to them. He might not yet have figured out who that black little cat really is but sure wouldn't mind petting it a bit.  
And then they acted like pricks. While I am working that over in my head and what do about it the rest of Hobbstweedle busts into the small room, bringing smoke laughter and more drinks with them, oblivious to the drama playing outon the couch meanwhile. 

tbc


	8. No Better Place In This World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert and the treasure he guards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 prompt - Eight
> 
> Rating - General- now with the gorgeous art from the ever lovely [GirlOfTheMoon75- Find her Tumblr here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/girlofthemoon75)

When he finally fell asleep I guarded him like a Smaugh his golden hoard.  
We occupied the last row of seats in the tour bus where little reading lights glowed above our bend heads but I got tired over my Byron biography pretty quick. At first Jimmy had been brooding over paperwork G gave him and later he was engrossed in a stack of music sheets as thick as my thumb. His dark head leaning against my shoulder he scribbled and fingertapped the notes against his jeans clad thigh, then scribbled furiously again, counting notes, humming quietly, tapping again… I nodded off after staring out into the dark surprisingly flat American countryside flitting by; feeling his warmth and quiet restlessness by my side. I could hear G and Bonzo talk further front in the dark bus, the faint sound of Buddy Holly on the Radio. Coles snores almost melting into the background noises, the little buzz in Jonesys headphones sounding like either Kiss or Bach.  
When I woke up again Jimmys head was in my lap; bedded on his dark-blue cashmere scarf; his uncombed hair tumbling down between my knees; breathing, dreaming here under my protection. A little piece of heaven. He was fast asleep, curled up on his side, his face turned towards my tummy, the pen still between his ink-spotted fingers. I felt his breath through my shirt near my belly button while I looked at the unguarded peaceful expression, his eyes flitting behind the closed lids in wild dreams. Gods know what Jimmy Page dreams about… I was suddenly so aware that only I ever get to see him like this. Barely breathing to not wake him while my heart soared with the intimacy of having your loved one falling asleep in your lap like there is no better place in this world. Especially Jimmy who usually acts like the air around him is blessed. Carefully slipping the pen from his hand I stroked his rumpled t-shirt up over his belly and gently drew a sidewards eight- not bigger than a fingerprint- on the soft white skin in the shadow of his hipbone protruding from his dark jeans. Ran the pen a few times around the little eternity sign.  
Like the eternity I wished this sweet quiet moment would last.


	9. Fever When I Hold You Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one continues from [ Day 2 Prompt - Quarantine You Give Me Fever](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2425535) .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 prompt - illness / quarantine2
> 
> Rating - Explicit -belts and polka dotted silk scarfs and the things you can do with them except wearing are elaborated on.

He’s bent over the plush back of the couch, topless, his bare feet sliding over the Persian rug without any real purchase; jeans pushed down just low enough to reveal his lily white arse with a small bite mark on it that certainly is not mine. It’s gonna be a strapping not a whipping after all -so he’s a bit covered up still - my aim is not impeccable - much to my dismay. Jimmy likes my belt for it best. Yes, the very one I wear on stage every night. I believe seeing me wear it in front of a few ten-thousand people who want to fuck me is an extra pay out for him. I trussed him up with his favourite silk-scarf after I had wrestled him face down on the bed and ripped his vest off then pulled him over to the couch and pushed his glossy, black head down into the pillows so he sees my belt next to him. Every perfect curl started to tremble, his breath fastening to a pant before I even touched him. 

“Why do I give them to you?” I reach for the belt and snap it at him, loving the way he shivers like he’s got the chills.

“Because I’ve earned them.” True: He was saintly patient with me today.

“How many do you want?” I’ll never understand why there must be a reason and a number of them if you do it for pleasure.

“Enough to either make your arm go weak or me get bored counting.” Says the boy who counts the stars in the sky when he can’t sleep. 

I run the smooth edge of the double looped belt up the valley of his spine, relishing how he wiggles his bum and raises onto the tip of his toes into the still gentle touch. He’s bracing himself; the silk wrapped around his forearms stretching, his fine white fingers cupping his elbows in anticipation. The first one is a low swing, but the slap is so loud that I hope Bonzo and Jonesy are out for lunch. 

Jimmy gasps out a hungry “ Fuckyes… one. Please more!” And I watch how the bite mark I saw earlier disappears under a welt as wide my wrist. 

After 12 hours "quarantine" G comes by in the evening to yell through the door that there was no bad press following my latest ventures into the underbelly of Thessalonikis’ red light district. And he admits he's not that mad at us anymore hence we would be allowed some cider if we were in the right condition - the doctor said low alcoholic beverages would be ok with the medication. I still make an effort to cough and sound contagious meanwhile Jimmy is in no condition to contribute to our conversation - besides giving a pretty picture. Face down, blissed out on the bed, an intriguing pattern of welts slowly turning violet on his lovely, little bum, loose silk scarves still wrapped around wrists and his swan neck. When we played earlier he wouldn't stop counting until he reached the higher twenties, then my arm got tired and I had other things on my mind than hurting him for delight. Dropping my belt to the floor I had told him “ Stop counting, baby… I’ll find other ways to make you sob.” 

I yell at G how Jimmys worse for wear and asleep- which is at least partly the truth:  
Having earned his nap after about 3 and a half earthshaking orgasms and some time floating around in rapture gathered in my arms while I reverently stroked his skin in the sinking afternoon light, petted his uncurling hair and hummed faint melodies he once talked about.

Tbc


	10. Leader Of The Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy and the things he sees in his garden. and what they make him think of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 prompt - bunnies  
> Rating - General

I would love to say I sat in the garden under my cherry tree, blush pink petals in my hair while I read Ozymandias and drank expensive French Rosé when the call came but I was really just standing by the stairway window watching the wild bunnies play on my lawn … there are at least four of them; all have different hues and some are a bit bigger than others; hopping about, chasing one another. After a while the light-brownish fluffy one climbs on top of the darker one with the floppy ears and I take a sip of my tea- meanwhile a little tepid- trying to figure out whom this reminds me of. AH yes, him! The hair-colour is about right, he was taller than all of us. He always wanted to be on top of all things. The leader of the pack. He took his chances when he saw them.. and while the performance was always good he never understood that "Race you there!" wasn't necessarily the best attitude -especially in bed.

In the middle of my nostalgic musings then the phone rings on the side table next to me. Without taking the eyes of my bunnies -done with love making already and playing again- I pick up the receiver.

" Hello? Oh Jeff it's you…what a pleasant surprise. I was just thinking about you."


	11. Fever All Through the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one continues from [Day 9 prompt - illness / Quarantine2 - Fever When I Hold You Tight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150023/chapters/63838735)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 prompt - illness / Quarantine3
> 
> Rating - mature - Acapulco Gold, belts and polka dotted silk scarfs and the things you can do with them except wearing are thought about but mainly fluffy.

When I wake up the bed next to me is empty. The passing violet dusk throws twilight on the walls. The French windows are open to let in the cooling evening air after a long hot day, sheer curtains swaying in the breeze. Before he left me to my nap he covered me with one of the countless gaudy cashmere blankets we bought in India last year. The soft gossamer feels like another caress on my happily sore arse. Raising up on my elbows I search the suite around our kingsized bed for the source of the soft voices and pealing laughter I hear. There is a cold bottle of cider sweating a wet ring onto my night stand and a cigarette on top of my golden lighter next to it. I hear Roberts distinct cheeky snigger rise before Bonzos voice thunders “ AhFuck! Are you kidding me… ?!” More laughter and a hard thud then an orange rolls from the balcony into the room. I sit up gingerly and reach for my trousers. Pulling them up over my naked skin I smile at the raw feeling and the little sliver of excitement and the memory of Robert holding me down into the couch pillows by my hair tightly wrapped around his hand, the delicious sound of his favourite belt cutting through the air, the impossible hot slap and the honey sweet pain radiating through my body in melting waves. The silk around my neck pulling tight when he dives into my yielding body, no air to moan for more or say “No, dont.”. Behind my closed eyes more stars than a moonless night could ever offer.  


Grabbing the cider and the cigarette from the bed-stand I wander over to the balcony that connects mine and Jonesys two adjacent rooms; parted by a 6 foot milky glass pane and look out into the pleasant night sky above Los Angeles. Robert is sitting crosslegged in a pile of pillows on the floor, cigarettes and a half empty cider bottle next to him. He’s wearing jeans and love beads, his hair tied back with a little strip of soft blue leather that had fallen off one of my guitar straps the other day. A wide smile lights his beautiful face as he sees me pulling the curtains aside.

“ Hey Pagey,..” he cirps. Stepping out I see Bonzo in an equally huge pile of pillows on the floor on the other side on the balcony and the chessboard between them. The glass pane leaning on the wall, a little butter knife and a handful of screws and washers next to it. 

“ Heeeeyyyy, there he is!” Bonzo greets me, a beer can in one and the ivory queen in the other hand. “ Check, Ro. You’re just not getting any better.” 

“ Hah, well I wonder why.” Jonesy throws in, laying on a few blankets next to Bonz on his back half inside half outside the room, an open book face down on his chest while he is peeling an orange. The plundered complimentary fruit basket and a half smoked joint on a gold-rimmed saucer nearby. He reaches for his beer glass to take a sip before he notices its empty. Holding it blindly out in Bonzos direction he peers around the corner up to me.

“ Was about time you wake up …I mean it’s getting dark after all.” John scolds me like I missed something fantastic. 

" Are you having a party without me.." I wonder with mock disappointment 

" Nah, no party ..we’re just waiting for you to wake up." Bonzo explains while pouring beer from from his can into Johns glass then throws the little chessman at him. “ Here! I told you I’ll win again.” They do sometimes share beers like that in casual company when they drink for leisure and no one is watching.

“You haven’t won’t yet.” Robert protests feebly, with his eyes on me. I kneel down by his side putting my own bottle on the floor and the fag in my mouth, lighting it. Hold my arm out for him with the polka dotted silk scarf still tied around my wrist. He briefly strokes the nacre inside of my arm with soft fingers before he unknots the scarf. The silk flutters to the floor; his eyes drop with it. I know he thinks about me on my knees with my “little sweet mouth” full of his cock because he is blushing so fast that I’m a bit afraid he might pass out. So I lean in, kiss him half on his hair half on his forehead before slipping to the floor to sit close to him. He smells like oranges and tastes like apple when I peck him on the corner of his blush hot smirk. 

“ But you are losing.” Insists Bonzo through a mouthful of beer. 

“ Am not…”. His hand is on my neck, stroking it, pulling the other scarf off, inspecting the skin for bruises.” OH shit” he huffs out, prodding a spot near my collarbone. “ Does that hurt? There is a mark.” It doesn't, but choke marks never do. 

Jonesy drops my stage notebook that he has been reading and looks at us. “ Why is it supposed to hurt then but not ok if it does now?”. He sounds genuinely confused.

Bonzo gives him a look usually he reserves for real doofuses. “ Cos shagging can hurt and still be loads ‘f fun. Love shouldn’t.” 

tbc


	12. Two Are A Story, Three Are A Delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert gets a surprise visitor to his solo show... Jimmy finds what Robert hid oh so carefully from him and why.
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this one to [ledbythreads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledbythreads/pseuds/ledbythreads) because I promised I'd write about those three to mutual delight. Here it is... sorry it took a little. Promise it will get more wild in the second part, I juts need to find the right Prompt to fit it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 Prompt. Meet cute.  
> "Cute" being in this case Roberts ( and later Page&Plants) fantastic and super gorgeous drummer Michael Lee that Jimmy seemed to have harboured a massive onstage crush on which Michael quite happily encouraged all through every show.  
> Here is how ( I imagine )he meets him first.  
> Please do for the sake of poetic license ignore that Michael was about half a head taller than Jimmy and even towered over Robert easily.

As I walk around the corner to my dressing room I see the door ajar, which is odd in itself because I closed it when I went to get a cuppa. I never quite understood how Jimmy was able to down half a bottle of Jack and still walk out on stage with a spring in his step- a nice cup of Darjeeling was always more my thing of a pre-show ritual.  
But the Zeppelin times seem so so so far away.  
Times are a-changeing.  
There is some ruckus or chatter inside my room which makes me nervous, because my dressing room should be quiet before the show. Clueless what this could mean I sneak closer and peek around the half-open door. The room seems empty until I discover Jimmy standing next to the settee facing the wall. He's filled out a bit after coming off the smack -not anymore the wisp of a boy I used to know. He looks very grown up now, rather manly and moves with a different sway in his step. Sometimes I do wonder if I have a part in this change. I can see he is laughing by the way his shoulders move but before I can even open my mouth to ask what the heck he is doing, I see my normally rather cocky if quite young drummer Michael ducking away, trying to escape Jim before a long arm stops him cold, blocking his way out, one pale hand flat against the wall, just above Michaels shoulder. Oh yes, I know - Jimmy is a lot faster than you'd give him credit for, his reflexes are stunning and his advance can be quite overwhelming if he wants to.He slides closer to my drummer, backing him up against the wall, pressing their hips together; a knee slipping between reluctantly parting jeans clad thighs.

"What you're thinking where you' going, Kitty-Kitty?" Jimmy coos at him. 

I see the sweet little wrinkles by the corner of his eyes appear. He clearly delights in propositioning flabbergasted Michael who seems to not yet have fully processed meeting the elusive infamous Jimmy Page to begin with. His other hand slowly curls a strand of Michaels carefully fluffed milk coffee coloured mane around his long finger. Michaels faint, indecisive struggles are useless against the hard, more massive body crowding into him and I know the big Bambi eyes only raise Jimmys blood pressure more.  
Say 'No' once and it's just the louder Yes in his ears.

"Ssshh, nownow! I can see why Robert didn't invite me to meet his new band.." he purrs, nosing up the fluttering pulse point in the captivated boys neck. "His toy-band G called you lads. And you are quite a little toy, aren't ya?"

The boys lovely mouth falls open under the tiny touch but he is lost for words; staring at Jimmy like a rabbit at the snake or rather the mouse at the cat, which so much better captures Jimmys feline ways to move in easy grace. His hand slips down the side of Michaels face, almost big enough to cover it, the thumb with it's long nail gently caressing, rubbing over his generous mouth; red wet pout; his fingertip briefly disappearing between his lips like stealing a short taste, announcing the kisses to follow, before continuing it's way down, revealing the hot pink inside of the lower lip.  
The boy starts to look terrified when the thumb under his chin bends his face up to meet Jimmys eyes. Poor thing, I know what they do to you. The cool glacier green, tenderly mocking, asking permission and cajoling at the same time; the sweetest, most wicked want you'll ever see aimed at you. His eyes take your breath away, your head drops empty, your mouth goes dry, you can't voice what you feel because you are a rabbit in his headlights. Now that he's got the boys full attention he secures his consent - given wide eyed and open mouthed. Fair enough I don't think Michael knows what this look does to a red blooded bi-sexual bloke. With this new band I had kept it under cover. It wasn't anyones business what Jimmy and I got up to off stage back then and it still isn't now. I won't come onto my band members if they won't go for it first. It tends to make things sooo complicated and I don't think Michael has noticed that he is surrounded by people who wanna take his pants off if he only as much as breathes in their direction - the blokes as well as the lasses.. Yes, I saw the looks he gathers where ever he goes, tall and gorgeous, sweet natured and breathtakingly gifted; that wide goofy smile laced still with so much innocence that I can barely believe he is a professional musician for years now. 

Phil almost swallowed his tongue when he walked into my studio to say Hello and peered up to Michael with an astonished expression on his round face, but he has never been the competitive sort of bloke. My toys stay mine without question. But Jimmy is a different creature...he takes certain things for a challenge. What's mine is certainly his too and he knows how to read the glow in someones eyes as surrender before they even noticed him looking.  
"So has dear Percy already taught you the essentials? I'd like to think so... but then corrupting the innocent has never been his thing." Jimmy implores, trying to suss out if he's blowing my covers here or if I have staked a claim already. Says the right one I think, leaning sideways against the door frame. Michaels lips part at this, he wants to protest but forgot the right words. Or any words at that.  
Jimmys oh so clever bee-stung lips are only just a breath away from Michaels now, he is pinning him with his eyes as much as with his weight.The boy is breathing fast. 

"Surely you are wearing his clothes and drinking his gin laced 7Ups - just like a big boy, eh? I can smell him on you... makes me want to rip off all the buttons in a hurry and suck your tongue until you all but melt in my fingers like chocolate…and I promise you will." Gosh, the mouth on that one. He got a lot braver with boys since I last met him in a backstage. 

He licks his lips then closes in, touching Michaels lips with the pink tip of his wicked little tongue, his grass-green eyes wide open...he loves to see you fall apart. He is being mean, Michael is not a fair opponent, he has not the slightest chance to withstand the games Jimmy plays so well. He doesn't have to force the boy of course, the slightest touch has him helpless, I noticed it often enough. I saw him looking from behind his drum set, smiling, contemplating it when he side-eyed me later backstage but I knew he wouldn't advance. Jimmys hand blocking the escape route falls away, now that he safely has reigned him in...he won't not run away anymore...I know it…Jimmy knows it... but Michael has no clue how that black cat just caught the tweety bird.

It would be the perfect moment to make myself noticed. It would be fair to let Jimmy know that Michael is as clueless as he seems and warn the little one of the trouble he has gotten himself into. But some evil, excited voice tells me that I want to see him realize it for himself. Master Page of Persuasion will notice any true reluctance...we played this game often enough and he took me much farer out than I'd have ever thought I'd like to be taken.  
Jims' large, gentle hand comes to rest on a skinny hip, pulling the wiry body closer, rubbing their hard-ons against each other as they snog like sex starved teenagers which is what Jimmy actually is, never stopped being with those he cherishes. Michael is really good at kissing ( which is all we have done so far)..just the right mix of want and need and desperate heat that cleanly wipes out his clear thinking. Certainly! Otherwise he would consider that it might be a bad idea to snog my rumoured boyfriend in my dressing room before my gig, no matter how hard said slutty boyfriend came on to him. Clearly I am not as good in this band leading thing as Jimmy used to be- no one ever questioned his decisions and if our hm entanglement tainted his decisions I never noticed it. He talked about that only with G - he is the only one he asked for advice. He was good at it, no matter how under weather, rail thin and wired he was at times. Even when he got so anxious about being touched by anyone but me, subsiding only on banana daiquiris and ratatouille, at times too paranoid to leave his room, the Zeppelin still flew on course, the dragon set the stage on fire every night not matter what …well mostly until the Zeppelin hit the ground in flames and the dragon flew away. 

But in the here and now my Jimmy has got him moaning now. He has coaxed the boys clever tongue to follow him into his mouth, nibbling his lips gently, while he tweaks a nipple through scarlet silk, rubbing it raw for more little noises swallowed in their kiss.  
Jim pushes his head back, to have better access to his neck that he’ll mark without a doubt. 'Jimmy was here'. His hand wandering up under the boys half-buttoned shirt...well, my shirt to be exact. I hear Michael whisper under his breath which is the first thing he says at all since I came in to watch.

"Oh, look at you, little easy. You are begging almost as prettily as Robert. Oh yes, he does, you wouldn't believe it! I wanna see you, let me ...ah yeah much better!" This tramp is impossible. And just like this he has relieved my apparently super easy drummer of his shirt and got him unbuttoned..I bet Michael didn't even notice what just happened.  
With the fret hand buried in his hair and the other down his pants Jimmy may as well wrap the boy around his finger. Suddenly Michael jerks in Jimmys grip, vainly tries to get away, the last attempt to escape, the last little flutter before his brain goes all flatline. " Please," he begs him, " I cant..we cant do this Robert is gonna go ballistic..." Jimmy starts kissing him again, the hand coming to frame his face again, stroking his hair, shushing him.

" Look at me, silly, it's okay! Trust me (Ah man, never trust anyone who tells you this. Specifically not Jimmy Page with his hand down your pants-why does no one ever seem to learn that lesson, for Fuckssake.) It's fine really! Isn't it, Percy?” 

Michaels eyes fly open in shock as Jimmy slowly turns his head to look at me, with his trademark dirty, angelic smile that I love him for so, so much. I walk into the room, locking the door behind me...smiling at my two wonderful evil doers.  
" Well…"

tbc


	13. Mocking Bird Wont Sing... Gonna Buy Him A Diamond Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert loses something. Jimmy learns valuable lessons from the most unexpected source.  
> crossover fic-first one I wrote! Mick and Keith make a surprise appearance. David is mentioned.
> 
> Now with breathtaking art from [Girl Of The Moon 75](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/girlofthemoon75)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 Prompt - loss  
> Rating - General -but lots of sexing is implied and referenced
> 
> OK, since I am way too late for the original WritersMonth2020( which was August) I ll just stop dithering about and post the drabble I have written in the order I write them when the muse feels generous and not in the order given by the prompts list. I will still fulflil them all but will just write them as the come and not as the are given.

The first time he lost his voice I was terrified. Maybe more than him. I nearly got a panic attack down in the kitchen after he shook me awake a few hours after we came home from our US-tour and whispered gruffly how his throat was killing him and asked me to make him a tea. When I came back to the bedroom with a mug of mint tea he was asleep, tossing and turning, burning up, his usually golden crown of curls dark with fever sweat soaking my sheets. When the sun came up he couldn’t even croak or crawl. I had to call Maureen to tell her he’s ill and stuck at the boathouse for a while then I rang Mum about how to read a thermometer and when to call a doctor. The fever went after an anxious day of delirium and chills. In the evening when he finally opened his eyes - clear of fever now but still a lot brighter than they had any right to be - darkblue and full of trust like a child. I could see he was feeling better. He was cold, exhausted and hungry, so I threw more duvets on the bed and ordered food, hoping the little curry house down my street could live up to Maureens’ culinary skills. We ate in bed and he cuddled close, holding my hand under his pillow as I later read to him from “Bonjour Tristesse” and “The Song of the Nibelungs” - the latter being about middle-age knights and German dragons which he liked better than Sagans existentialistic French brat.  
He felt a little better next morning but stayed close to the pile of blankets he hid under, he was cold all the time and his voice was completely gone. It was very quiet in the house without his chatter, snickers, the humming, trilling and random crooning that usually heralds his presence and accompanies his sunny moods. He whispered and held his long neck in pain whenever he tried to raise his voice above a meow. He was distant and looked sad, sort of as if he worried about something he literally couldn’t voice. Over the days the rest of the band, their wives and G called to make lazaretto jokes and demand to see me in “the little nurse uniform” Robert surely had put me in. No one seemed to worry about Roberts voice, not even G.  
I nipped down to the London office to see to the paper work and the odd meeting on the third day. He had looked confusingly heartbroken about being left alone for a few hours. He moped around the house and while he couldn’t I was certain there was something he also wouldn’t tell me. There had been big, mournful eyes and stubborn denial to explain what’s wrong.

After looking at contracts, some reviews and a quite satisfying full settlement of the tour with a boisterous G for 3 and a half hours I was ready for a quick pint. Upon entering WorldsEndTavern on Kings’ Road I find Keith Richards occupying my favourite table near the bar with a weirdly colourful collection of drinks in front of him.

“ Little Jimmy,” he hollers like I am 12, beckoning me over. “ I thought I heard you are back in town. Come, have a seat.”

He waves at Jack the barkeep to bring me a pint. I slip into the dimly lit booth wondering if I need to tell Robert of my where-abouts because most likely I won’t know them myself anymore in about 35 minutes from now.  
Keith looks very skinny in a paramountly glamourous way. I bet he didn’t brush his glorious pitch-black mop for at least 5 days. He’s wearing bespoke velvet flares, about half a t-shirt, three scarfs in different colours and a pound smudged guy liner around his stunningly frog-green eyes. A ring on every finger and a cigarette in each hand. He looks a wired mess but I know he isn’t. Over the next two beers we exchange anecdotes about touring the States before changing to gossip and finally making fun of fellow musicians. He seems to have it in for Bowie today which leads me to assume I know where Mick spends most of his time these days. After a little bout of guitar nerding and trying to have me loan him my black Les Paul for the new Stones album he asks me about “that little stray cat that hopefully sings nicely for you every night” meaning Robert. Keith still sniggers about his own joke when I spit out in one long, tipsy sentence how Robert is sick at home, has lost his voice and how I wonder what this means for the band. Suddenly very serious he lets his glass slide down through his fingers, bonking hard onto the scratched dark wood table, making his other 5 glasses rattle and spilling my beer. He eyes me wordlessly for a long while, then asks me for a coin.

Perplexed I fumble a twopence out of my pocket. He flips it in the air, catches and slaps it on the back of his fret hand. Looking at its’ tail side he gets up and walks over to the phone booth. Far from being put off by his odd behaviour I stare at his skinny, red - velvet clad arse walking away. Only now I see he has a set of curled up guitar strings around his left wrist like bangles and a golden harp in his back pocket. I finish my beer and try to find the best one out of his 5 drinks which turns out to be something green that tastes suspiciously like absinth. Keith comes back 5 minutes later with a new round of wish-wash and a pack of Marlboros. We smoke, chatter and wait. I have no clue for what.  
15 minutes later I see a big limousine pull up behind Keiths shoulder and get ready to joke about how he bought his drug dealer a new ride by now when see Mick Jagger climb out of the car followed by two gorgeous creatures that I am not sure whether they are girls or boys. Leaning back into the dark car Mick presses a slow smooch on Davids pale cheek who shoos him away with a fond wave. Keith rolls his eyes. The car speeds off. Mick makes a big entrance, swagged like he is on the way to stage, glitter shirt under a floor-long black coat, soft embroidered pants that hide nothing, bed feathers in his long hair, mirrored shades, a colossal scarf trailing after him, magnificent enough that it cost more than the down payment for my house. Sending his two escorts to another booth he sweeps over to Keith and me.

“ Darling,” he purrs, kissing the top of Keiths head and then his upturned mouth too for good measure. “ Lil’ Jimmy, nice to see the Valley girls didn’t eat you alive yet.” He sits down next to me, smelling like patchouli and Lapsang. I see myself eye him in disbelief in the mirror of his sunglasses. “ So your singing bird has lost its’ trill, I hear?”

Giving Keith an evil glare I try to gather enough breath to answer. They both snigger the same little noise. Mick fishes a small paper bag from the depths of this coat pockets and puts it on the table.

“ Please tell me you told him that he’s the one no matter what happens to his voice and that you’ll be with him even when he only caws in the near and far future.” He pulls off his sunglasses to train his infamous blue bed room eyes on me. “Please tell me you didn’t even think about hiring someone else yet…”. He narrows his eyes at me, grabs my beer and almost finishes it with a few big sips while he lets that sink in. He looks as if he would like to slap me. At last I reign myself in enough to save the last of my drink from him.

“ Michael.” Keith murmurs warily.

“ You see, his voice will recover. It’s just a little cold. But he will never really forgive you that you thought of replacing him at the very first silly little testing.” Micks manicured hand curls into a twee fist on the table between us. Keith hand covers it, 5 string bangles on his wrist, a single string wrapped around Micks. I think I understand. I feel sorry and stupid. Mick pushes the paper bag in my direction.

“ Go home, make him a ginger tea with lots of honey. That’s good for the throat; lemon makes it even better. Tell him everything will be good. Don’t let him take coke, it further stresses the vocal cords. And no smoking for a while. Buy him a fucking scarf. A very big one should he want to continue wearing his shirts this wide open. A very expensive one should you want him to still suck your cock by next week.” Keith snorts out a naughty snigger but in Micks eyes is a painful urgency that rings loud in my ears.  
I nod like a scolded child, pull my coat tails out from under his money maker before squeezing past him; fully aware of his tentacle hand pawing my arse. I pay for my beer and think about this lesson. When I come back Mick and Keith are playing footsies under the table while talking about cricket. All the glasses on the table between them are empty.

I pet the perfectly spiffing scarf Mick has half unwrapped himself from and ask: “ So, uhh do you know where Brian bought this one then? And have you talked to him lately?”

Before he can answer Keith says wistfully: “ Not Brian… I bought it. Down on Carnaby … that little shop with the flag outside…Rose..something. And no, we haven’t. Not since we’ve made him leave. We can’t. No one can. He doesn’t pick up the phone.”

AhFuck! Yes…all the other things you can loose aside of your voice or the sight of the things that really matter.

tbc


	14. Big Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and the other former Yardbirds Cease and Desisted Jimmy to stop using the Yardbird moniker for his new band.  
> Now what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 prompt - Metamorphosis

“Hes right though…we aren’t the Yardbirds, not the new ones or any sort of bird for that matter.” Bonzo states the obvious.

“True, I mean I don’t want to be asked again what happened to my hair and if I am wearing plat forms.” Robert grumbles. He is in no way anyhow a Yardie and he had to pay the highest price for this New Yardbirds lark. Disappointed groupies peering up at him, his bobbing curls, his tall fierce sex appeal and the way he moans around his lyrics where they expect tiny, sleek, platinum blonde Keith and his easy ’Come hither, Darling’- smile. 

Only girls that fancy bass players walk away from this situation as winners. Since Jonesy with his slow winning smile is sweet, charming and clever where Chris was brittle and prudish only making friendly efforts to bossy brunettes (well -blokes).  
We sit piled around the giant desk in the Tea Shop- as we call Gs tiny office. In front of him a ripped and taped together Cease and Desist letter from my former band mates, asking me to stop using the Yardbirds name for my new band. General breathless cluelessness is the predominant spirit.  
I am torn between fury and relief. On one hand I don’t need to live up to the expectations tied to that name but am totally free to do something new, totally mine-ours and experimental, pulled through with that tight business plan G and I wrote months ago when I first got tired of being a broke guitarplayer in brocade stage coats. On the other hand I feel stabbed in the back by those who left the band months ago without looking back once. The boys gathered here have no idea about the endless strategic planning that went into this new -our project, that led us to this exact point sitting around my-our managers scratched desk in a shabby tiny office that barely fits himself and our expectations. And I know what ever we decide now will write history. Every small thing has to grow. The seed was planted - a bit literally- when I found Robert… then Jonesy found us…and we went to get Bonzo - everything else pulled itself together after so easily that one might be tempted to believe in the concept of kismet.

“ Ok, so we drop this Yardbird thing, agreed?” Agreeing hums from all sides, G smiling like the Chesire cat. “ A new name is needed …any ideas?” 

Jonesy looks like he is thinking about something before he asks: “Do you know what Keith Mooon said when I told him about our band last week?”


	15. Spirit Animal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert invited guests over without telling Jimmy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 22 prompt - Pet shop   
> Rating - General
> 
> This one was inspired by my favourite Jimmy tabloid article [Jimmy and the Peacocks](https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-5671281/Robbie-Williams-Jimmy-Page-troubled-peacocks-attack-cars.html)

We walk down Kensington High Street, no one looking at us, no one ever does here but you still insisted on shrouding yourself a bit of guise. When we pass the pet shop, you stop at front of the windows to eye the cat toys, leashes and boxes of bird food carelessly arranged in the display. The shop owner comes out and greets you by name, explaining your order has arrived yesterday and brings out a big box of silly posh looking nibbles. Then explains to you that you can feed big birds like yours also with other cat food and all sorts of fruits. Bananas are good too.   
I see you grin about that. You thank him profoundly and promise to come back and report on your progress. We walk on. I try to figure it out. Then it hits me. 

“Robert, noo….what have you done? If you feed them they gonna come back for more and eventually stay. “ 

“Well wouldn’t you be used to that by now..” You throw in, hiding a snigger behind my favourite scarf wrapped around your face to avoid being recognised - in vain as just demonstrated. 

“They are protected. Do you know how loud they are? They are territorial like nothing. And they love their reflexion. I am…what?” You are properly laughing now, scarf slipping and blond locks spilling out. The stormy blue eyes full of mirth.

“I mean you should be used to noisy vain glorious things chasing after you planning on never leaving your premises again.“ Oh goodness gracious, what can I say to that. 

So the day you told me you want to stay with me for a while you lured those gorgeous winged little shits into my wonderful quiet garden who scratch my cars, chase the cats and leave feathers everywhere. The only thing that gives me solace is the imperceptible flinch that my peacocks ( Yesyes, they are mine by now. They agree, I think) give you every time they yell for food in the garden. 

“I fucking cant get over this,” you grumble as you get up to find the box with kibbles “ How something so pretty sounds so horrendous, savage and loud.”

I am standing with the cats in the kitchen back door and we watch you feed the huge pretty birds by hand. They are quiet now, just a little tittering while climbing all over you and sometimes the fully white boy you have named Byron prances around for you, spreading his tail feathers but nips you in the finger when you hand him some of your banana.   
You come in later, kiss me and give me a white tail feather longer than my arm and it reminds me of all the good times in which I lived with a peacock like that already and actually never minded it much.


	16. NeverNeverland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take me home, baby.   
> VampireJimmy looks forward to dinner.   
> Belongs in my VampireJimmy Universe found here:   
> [25 Hours A Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25290670/chapters/61317757)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 Prompt - True Love’s Kiss
> 
> Rating Tame... just promises in dark hallways.  
> ok well blood is mentioned.

Walking down the Long Hallway leading from stage to the dressing-rooms you surreptitiously put your slim hot hand into the small of my back for a littlest moment of insanity. Just under my shirt on the naked skin of my clammy hot back, running your rough fingertips up over the hidden discoloured patch of skin, just above the small of my back, slightly raised like most birth marks are.   
Mine’s roughly the size of a my palm, super sensitive and oddly formed. I usually hide away it from everyone but you are oddly fond of it. You do not say a word, don’t even look at me yet I know what it means, this touch-so fleeting, possessive and careful. It’s not so much a question as it’s a promise probably as much as it could be a threat -it makes my heart flutter and my stomach churn. It’s literally- if you will-Speak softly and carry a big stick!-which seems to be the essence of the boy I know you to be. My knees go weak for a fleeting second and I stretch out a shaking hand to hold onto the wall while walking. You notice me swaying and I see you smile-hidden under the ink black cloud of your hair floating hazily around you in the screamingly-bright neon lights guiding our way to dressing rooms or roomy dark getaway limousines lined up in secret underground garages, airplanes with running engines, waiting on empty runways overseen by the sunrise- to however safety might look right now. I don’t know and I really don’t care.  
Between two doors- invisible to the people walking in front or behind us-the never-ever land of sorts- one door wide open in front of us, the other one just closing behind us you haul me into your arms. The cold tip of your nose running up the side of my sweaty neck, hiding in my hair for a brief moment. I hear you breathe in, deep and slow, as if you want to remember my scent and this moment for the rest of your life. 

“ Later…” you whisper with noticeable titter in your voice before you bend me a bit backwards kissing me quick and hard and so hungry that all my moderately adrenaline enriched blood makes a slow move towards my cock.   
A kiss that is the total antipole to the gentle and lovey way you just touched me with and to prove my point you nip my lower lip hard enough to make me taste my own blood.   
Blimey, I guess the vampire just woke up ...


	17. Up On The Roof Down Your Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band takes a well deserved dip. Jimmy would rather just read but Robert can be so very persuasive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 25 prompt - Drop  
> Rating - general

Diving up I break through the glittering blue surface of the Riot Houses roof top pool and it feels like I am sliding right up into the already low sun above our heads. The sweltering LA afternoon full of press and promotion appointments was torturous enough that G freed our evening until a late dinner and sent Cole and the crew up to clear the rooftop for us.

So now we are bouncing around the water like young dogs on a beach, gleefully savouring that no ones eyes are on us for short a while. Bonzo in a pair of surfer shorts chases John around the pool, finally down the diving board with a wild cry of joy and grabs him in the air around the waist to make a bigger splash…

In safe distance to those shenanigans you are lounging on a huge sun bed pulled to the edge of the pool close enough to let both your naked feet dangle in the water. You are wearing a pair of downright scandalous blue bathing trunks and a light t-shirt to shield yourself from getting a tan while you read in a small thick leather bound tome you dragged up with you from the depth of your book trove. It’s barely bigger than your hand and must be exciting because I can see you smile in the shadow of the parasol. Your long pale arm with a fat turquoise bangle hangs off the pillows, lost in thought fingers following the pattern of the floor tiles around the pool, rubbing your guitar calluses against the rough grit in the joints.

I glide over to you, careful to not splash you in your reverie. I know you noticed me coming closer because your smile gets wider. Looking around for possible spectators I grab you by your pendulous feet in the water. Wrapping my hands around them, stroking both your insteps with my thumbs. Of all the wondrous places your body hides away I like them the third most. They are something no one ever pays attention to. Can’t really actually because you don’t walk around barefoot much unless in very private or casual company. You are not overly exhibitionisticjust well aware of your charms - still I’d bet you never paid much thought to your feet except to put on your slippers or to tap your favourite blue wahwah.

“Haahhaaa… “ its almost an openmouthed moan, a reaction to my pleasant touch but you don’t lower your book. You are not ticklish, so I proceed.

My hands slipping around your fine white ankles I run my wet hands up the back of your calfs up to the hollows of your knees.

“ Listen to this love,” you say, seemingly unfazed of my approach.

_'Of course man is mortal, but that's only half the problem. The trouble_  
_is that mortality sometimes comes to him so suddenly! And he cannot even say what he will be doing this evening.'_

_'What a stupid way of putting the question. ' thought Berlioz and objected :_

_'Now there you exaggerate. I know more or less exactly what I'm going to be doing this evening. Provided of course that a brick doesn't fall on my head in the street. . .'_

_'A brick is neither here nor there,' the stranger interrupted persuasively. ' A brick never falls on anyone's head. You in particular, I assure you, are in no danger from that. Your death will be different.'_

_'Perhaps you know exactly how I am going to die? ' enquired Berlioz with understandable sarcasm at the ridiculous turn that the conversation seemed to be taking. ' Would you like to tell me?'_

_'Certainly,' rejoined the stranger. He looked Berlioz up and down as though he were measuring him for a suit and muttered through his teeth something that sounded like : ' One, two . . . Mercury in the second house . . . the moon waning . . . six-- accident . . . evening--seven . . . ' then announced loudly and cheerfully : ' Your 'head will be cut off!'_

“ Isn’t that brilliant? They just met this stranger-a foreigner they think- in the park. Now they are chatting to him and he reads them their future by looking at their faces and the birds in the sky.”

“ So, who is the stranger?” I ask, intrigued by your enthusiasm.

“ Hah,” you lower the book to give me a trademark mischievous moss-green stare, “ Little do they know. He is the devil. And he has green eyes. Well, one green eye. The other one is black. He came to St. Petersburg. Revolution is about to start. It’s 1918. The eve of destruction if you will.”

“ Put it down.” I sound not the slightest bit commanding. Just telling you.

You close the book with a light thud and drop it on the pillow next to you. My hands wrapping around your knees now, pulling you forward to the foot end of the lounge. You come willingly and sit up above me. Looking down between your spread knees your head eclipses the late afternoon sun.

“ Come in, I am here.”I know you still haven’t bothered to learn how to swim, but you get in the water with me when you are feeling relaxed and sober.

You stroke off your t-shirt, the white of your skin precious against the heat soaked blue sky. You drop into the water like a slippery little seal sliding down my body off the your sun chair into my wet open arms catching you under water, your fingers lacing with mine as I pull you up against me. Holding on to my shoulder you wipe your hairs wet jet-black mess out of your happy face. Safe in the feeling that I am here you float with me to the middle of the pool.

“ You are right. It’s lovely. I mean I still don’t trust water in a cage but its very refreshing” you admit. The gentle grip of you hand on my shoulder reassuring. And while you are barely touching me I am somehow glowing with excitement, maybe I get off your trust? After all you just leaped in the water to me, allowed me to take you to the deep end with about a metre of water underneath your feet. And on your face a relaxed smile. I wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, holding you tighter. Bonzo comes paddling closer, careful not to stir up bigger waves around us as to not spook you. In his hand a Coors can and Jonesy in his tow with a clear plastic air mattress he wrested out from under Cole earlier whereupon the latter decided to rather raid the bar and leave the pool to the big fishies. Like us.

“ Jim, here I thought you might want this?” John says and swims closer to tie the float with a brightly coloured rope bracelet to your left wrist before reaching for the golden-white can in Bonzos hand to take a sip. The only person who can take a beer from Bonz without being threatened with a painful death. Looking at the little velcro fastening around your narrow wrist Jonesy explains:

” I saw it down at the beach. Surfer do this so they don’t lose their board in the waves. It’s called a leash. So I assume that’s down your alley, eh?” Bonzo eyes me with a dirty smile under his dripping moustache before we all start laughing like boys in the locker room. I feel your body warm and smooth next to mine, touching me with comfortable safeness of custom practice.

My friends, my love, a buzz, the sun setting above us.

For a moment I am breathless with the perfection of this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy reads Michail Bulgakows' "The Master and Margarita". The book -said to have inspired Mick Jagger to write "Sympathy for the Devil" in 1968- even though written between 1928 and 1940 was only released in 1967 because it was forbidden to be released before. It's one of the best books ever been written.  
> It's hilarious,anarchic, clever and heartbreaking. And then it picks you up and makes you happy again.


	18. Heart To Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert learns a few things and it starts with a phone call.  
> Pangbourne July, 4th 1969  
> another crossover fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 prompt - History  
> Rating - General with a trigger warning for drugs and Loss of a loved one.  
> neither is elaborated on but its mentioned so please treat carefully if either makes you sad  
> Keith and Mick are mentioned,Brian is referenced.

The phone rang late at night … I could already see the morning dawn over Jimmys personal part of the Thames from the big panorama window in the living room. I was nested on the couch with him. He had been fiddling with some tracks downstairs for ever and a night and snook up to slip under my blanket with the first birds song. But after he fell asleep on me like a cat -light and warm, steady soft breath fanning my skin- I was wide awake. So I extracted myself from his sleepy embrace, went down to the kitchen to make tea and look for that book on deals with devils with unspeakable names I had been mulling over all of yesterday. When the phone went I took the call by the second ring standing on the kitchen stairs because I didn’t want to to rouse Jimmy. 

“ Ello?” I didn’t say a name because I figured whoever phones at this time knows who he is looking for anyway. I wondered if Jimmy has an unlisted number when I noticed the racket on the other end. Someone was shushing someone else but not in a ‘Shut up’-way but more in a low, comforting murmur. 

“ Err, hello? Have I reached Jimmys number? Robert’s this you?” I didn’t recognise the voice but it sounded vaguely familiar. It was a soft male voice, proper grammar school lilt but a little roughened and sloppy like he sang or cried all night.

“ Uhm. Yes, who’s there?” A side piece? An ex lover? Who knows about me? 

“ Err, it’s Keith.” Goddamn, I knew it. Is Keith an ex lover, though? I mean clearly Jimmy has his thing for blondes and here I was talking to that little, blond deviant- the singer of his other band who rings him Tuesday- night at 4am. 

“ Oh mhm, Keith…??“ 

“ Keith Richards, Dear. Is he up?” Crikey… a Rolling Stone. I took the receiver away from my ear to stare at it for a bewildered, speechless heartbeat as if Keith could see me oogling him in disbelief. My eyes wandered along the short hallway to the couch in the living-room “He” was sleeping on. From the top of the kitchen steps where I stood, merely visible as a pile of black curls and pale hand holding on to the armrest. He is the only person I have ever seen who holds on to things when he’s fast asleep. When I pressed the phone back to my ear I heard voices in the off, sobbing, further away yelling and Keith shushing and whispering something in a stunned, gentle singsong that implied he was petting someones head. 

“ Nah.” I finally gathered my wits enough to reply ”He’s sleeping. I’d like to…” I didn’t know what I would like to … so I hushed my voice. Keith sighed heavily and sniffled. So the heavy drug rumours around them were true then, I reckoned. 

“ Nono. Don’t wake him up- not for this. Please don’t. I gonna phone again later. ’S he still always read the morning news?” They seemed to know each other a lot better than Jimmy ever cared to mention.

“ When he’s at home, yeah he does..…” I looked down at the book in my hand.

“ Listen, perhaps go and throw them in the river before he finds them. Keep him at home tomorrow. It’s gonna be…. “ Keith sounded suddenly panicked and devastated. “ A bloody mess. Jimmy won’t want to watch that.” It dawned on me that this was not a drunk courtesy call.  
“ I am .. what do yo..” 

“ Brian is dead.” A shattered, breathless, black eternity, deep as a grave before his next words. “ He … he apparently drowned at home but we don’t know much more than that yet.”  
His voice cracked. Well gooddamn. My heart broke at once for Keith and Mick who I could suddenly hear quietly sob into what I assumed was Keiths shoulder. I looked over at my sweetheart again unsuspectingly sleeping away his weird vampire-like practicing schedule on the settee; painted a mellifluous pink with the slow Berkshire sunrise.

“ My God! I’m ..so sorry for your loss, what can I do? ” I was so lost for words. The first cut is the deepest; it’s no lie. What could I even say. There is no comfort anyone can offer. I heard Keith whisper something then say “ Hang on a sec, Robert will you?” . The phone was put down.  
Keith mumbled carefully “ Baby, come on. Let me sit down. Now come ‘ere.” Lots of rustling. The creaking of leather couch cushioning. Something dropped. “Where is the blanket…is that Bri's jumper? Goodness, what’s ’s this? You are bleeding. Miks. Love. Put that down. More won’t make it better. Please. Put your head on here. That’s nice. Good boy. Ssshhhh. Yes. Just like that. You‘re doing so good. Now try to calm down a bit while I talk to Robert. Alright?”  
Mick mumbled something unintelligible about “ Telling little Jimmy…” and Keith replied  
“ Yes pet, he shouldn’t readabout’t in the news t’morrow. You know why.”

If it would’t have been such an awful occasion I’d have listened to that for a while and get a bit turned on. Keith’s got the gently commandeering alpha thing down rather well. Thankfully before my still perplexed mind could expand the inappropriate idea about making love by telephone to my favourite Rolling Stone who gave my hm…boyfriend?( Is Pagey my boyfriend? Would he snicker or throw a Whawha in my direction should I call him that?) a bell before sunrise said Stone interrupted my rambling train of thoughts.

“ Sorry, Robert..you still there? It’s well.. a terrible situation. We all are uh, still in shock … I sort of hope somehow it’s not true but I know it is. Frank rang from Bris house and said…” his voice skipped over the rest of the sentence. “ We were having a bit of a party after jamming …. I sent someone down to his house to find out more. Mick ripped the whole studio to pieces before I’d pull him out. Then I thought of Jimmy and how he ..and Brian were so hm close. I know. Well. I thought he’d want to know. D’ want to be prepared. Not find out from the news.”

I was devastated. To lose someone like this. Not even having been there. Not knowing. Never be able to turn back time and tides. I thought of how it would be to lose one of my beloved. My love, my kids, my family? Unthinkable. My mates. My Jimmy! I sat down on the stairs, the hand holding the phone shaking. I looked at Jimmys hand tightening in his sleep around the corner of an antique lace pillow. He turned around and the orange morning light lit up his peaceful, sleeping face like all the desperate love I felt for him in this moment. 

“ What you gonna do? He isn’t….I mean. Are you sure it’s true?” We both knew it’s true. I just wanted to- for a little, delusional moment- feed into his idea that it might be a mistake, a cruel hoax, that they might find their precious, golden boy drunk under his office table not covered with a sheet, wheeled out on a stretcher. 

“ It’s true- I am pretty sure. We’ve lost him. I can feel it. They didn’t take care of him. He needs someone to take care of him, you know. He is so… delicate somehow. Sometimes. He likes to swim when he is tipsy… he loves water; they should have taken care with his asthma ..we always do. Did.“ He sobbed out an iron wrought sound of guilt and devastation I hoped I’d never have to hear again in my life. “ So however. Keep your boy inside. Tell Grant to cancel a few jigs. Stay home. Hide for a bit. Jim won’t want to be hunted by press for comments. Trust me.” Blimey yes. I’d have to ring G. If he knew Brian I wondered. If he knew what he was to Jimmy beyond a fellow musician. The first boy he kissed- that’s what he told me. 

“ One more thing, Robert,” Keith huffed tiredly.“ I hope you know that you don’t need to be jealous. Bri and Jimmy - that was something like a schoolboy crush or so I think. Bri usually bragged about his conquests. He never did about Jimmy. It ...wasn’t like that. They were friends.” I heard him smile. It sounded so, so sad that my heart throbbed in pain once more. 

“ That’s nice of you to say. Don’t worry about it. I am not the possessive sort and he told me about Brian. Will you call again or do you want me to…. ?” 

Keith whispered again to Mick in this special voice and I thought how it must feel to comfort the one you love about someone else. I remembered Jimmy telling me how Brian was sure Keith and Mick would be lovers one day, that Keith was too macho to realise that just yet. How we sniggered about it and how he joked Mick would adapt to that pretty easy given he was taught all the wrong things by the right boy. I knew Brian was the right one. For Jimmy. At some point. In some way. I thought about what things he taught Jimmy.  
When I looked up I saw Jimmy stand in the doorway. His t-shirt was gone and his jeans button open. He was bare foot and his locks took in every which way. He looked sleepy, enchanting and suspicious. 

“ Listen Keith, I need to go. Please take care of your boy, yeah? … will you ring back if you know more?” Jimmy squinted at me. Stepped closer. 

“ Yeah? Ok sure. It’s gonna be late afternoon though.. will you get that handled until then?” I started thinking he might have been lying to me about the true depths of Brians and Jimmys relationship. He was so very concerned. Like he knew. Like he knew what could happen. 

“ But of course. All will be good. Tell him. Cos that’s what I’ll tell Jimmy now.”

“ Yes. All will be good,” Keith parroted for me. In the background Mick said “No, it won’t - It won’t ever be good again.” I could hear Keith cry. Then the line went dead. 

I hung up the phone on the wall without getting up. Instead sat and stared at the silver painted floor planks between Jimmys feet and mine. There's the tea spot where I spilled Darjeeling a few days ago. The wide scratch where he dropped his guitar case last year and over there the little blood smudge where Jimmy had touched the wall after I blew him in the hallway and he came so hard that he got a nose bleed. I was too scared to look up at him standing there waiting for me to answer the question in his eyes. 

“ Who was on the phone, Robert?” He finally asked, not quite sounding as suspicious as he looked. I choked with the answer before I got it out.  
“ It was Keith.” Jimmy didn’t waste time thinking of the wrong one like I did.  
No. He knew right away. He held on to the door frame and gasped just a single word with breaking voice before he collapsed. It was the right name. I wasn’t fast enough to catch him, but to pick him up. He was crying already when I reached him. Until today I can’t tell how he knew. I took him in my arms and felt his tears run down my neck. I had never seen him lose his temper let alone shed a tear. I wasn’t ready for this. 

“ How?!” he breathed into my shoulders crook after a long while filled with drowning sobs.

“ Keith says he might have …. They don’t know yet. The swimming pool… he might have been tipsy?” His skin grew cold where it didn’t touch me.  
It was the first time I saw Jimmy drink whiskey straight from the bottle until he was too hammered to sit up. He fished out some tiny wrap with something from a blazer pocket. Carelessly wiping the tears from his face with the back of his hand he angled the spoon out of my empty teacup on the table, proceeded to cook the dubious powder with my silver lighter and inhaled the grey smoke with his guitar slide. His eyes glazed over, the pupils slinking into tiny black spots, he started slurring his words. He crawled into my lap sniffling; now not even trying to wipe away the tears anymore. When he fell asleep on my folded knees, holding onto my hand for his dear life I sat stiff with shock for what felt like half a decade. Just looked at the unperturbed pink morning sky above his river turning into a glorious blue summer day.  
Hearts break even on blue days.  
So this was Jimmy when he lost control. What the heck was this muck even? I picked up the empty wrap and dipped the finger in the residue inside. Against the tip of my finger it looked like ground brown sugar. It smelled like cat pee and tasted like vinegar.  
Good Grief. My stomach dove in fear. I looked down on him. His sweet face, his chocolate curls spilling everywhere, lashes fluttering in wild dreams, his luscious little, pink mouth, wet and open; all the untainted, innocent beauty in such a contradiction the swift, messy downfall I just witnessed  
I shoved him carefully off my lap on the pillows to walk over to the window and take the last big gulp from the whiskey bottle he left on the table. My knees started shaking, my fastening breath fogging the glass, blurring the view over his river. I didn’t know what bugged me more, the horrible news, that Jimmy lost someone he obviously loved and wouldn’t talk about, a genius musician who left way too early or the catastrophic reaction it triggered. I wasn’t that green that I did not recognise what I had been shown. I didn’t even know he had tried this drug before, not to mention that he had it at home and got it out without thinking in a crisis situation.  
I stayed close to him while he slept, slightly worried about his stuttering, torturously slow breathing. As soon as I laid down next to him on the couch he wrapped himself around me, his hands clinging to my clothes and wrists. I read half a bleak, hilarious book of some dead Russian who seemed to have hated everyone he met while Jimmy slept on me, only quickly slipping away to make tea. Finally I dozed off over the 15th page of ranting about wanting to jump off mountains but waiting for the command to do so from the girl who doesn’t love the Russian back.  
He stirs against me. His shallow, careful breathing telling me he has a massive hangover or maybe even a migraine. I open my eyes to find his head close to mine on my pillow, eyes closed but a little frown gives him away. 

“ Jimmy” I say, “ I know you are awake. Please look at me.” He gives up the charade. My heart soars in relief when he looks up at me and his lovely jade green eyes are clear and wide awake. A hint of dread is shading his beloved face. “ Look,” My voice is gentle, I don’t want to scold him or make him think I am mad, “ I won’t make you promise things I know you don’t want to keep, but I want you to know, if you get careless, if you hurt yourself with this stuff, if I get a call like the one last night and the name they tell me is yours- I’ll do exactly do what you did last night.” I stroke a stray curl from his face and kiss his forehead. What an evil little trap I thought out while he slept. 

“ Robert, are you bonkers? You’ll … I mean… you don’t even like..you can't... you would ...you could...“ the little frown is back while he thinks this over. Then the penny drops. His heart pounds fast I can feel it against mine where he is still pressed close to me.

“ And don’t think I wouldn’t know how. I am a rockstar, Darling, I’ll find a way. ” I add for good measure. 

He nods at this bold, big lie and the whispered reply is more a breath than actual words.“ Yes, I understand.” 

I hug him closer. “ Good!” I press a kiss on the tip of his nose as if we had exchanged sweet nothings but we both know it’s a pact.  
A promise. A vow. And as far as I know- now many many years later- he kept that promise. 

The only call I ever got where they said his name was when he needed me to bail him out after he got busted and we still snicker when we talk about that - but that is another story for another night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Robert is looking for in the kitchen about deals with devils is of course "Dr.Faust" (because of course Jimmy has that on his shelf) and later while Jimmy sleeps it off he mulls over Dostojewskys "The Gambler" which is as bleak as it is hilarious and the most spectaculary entertaining devastating ride I can imagine in a book. Deep down it's about addiction and how you easy it is to pretend you still love it (I think) and Dostojeswky wrote it because he was in gambling debts and had to deliver a book to his editor in 10 days to pay said depth. Hence its only about 120 pages long and not 1200 like all his others.


End file.
